


worth

by eggi



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa 3: The End of 希望ヶ峰学園 | The End of Kibougamine Gakuen | End of Hope's Peak High School, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Control Issues, Developing Relationship, Eating Disorders, Enemies, Enemies to Lovers, God Complex, Hero Complex, Identity Issues, Mild Blood, Non-Graphic Violence, Past Relationship(s), Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Trans Hinata Hajime, Trauma, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, implied at least - Freeform, relationship is unrequited for now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-13 20:00:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29034297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eggi/pseuds/eggi
Summary: hinata so desperately craves to be useful. (it's a normal thing, obviously.) but it's just a question on how far he would go to prove his worth to those he considers close to him.!!! READ THE TAGS !!!
Relationships: Hinata Hajime/Komaeda Nagito, Hinata Hajime/Nanami Chiaki (past relationship/implied)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 37





	worth

Hinata craved to be useful. 

He craved to be part of the tightly knit found-family that was the 77th class. He craved to feel like he deserved to be in Nanami’s presence. Most of all, he wanted to prove to Komaeda that he wasn’t just a useless reserve course.

They were out of the simulation, a few months out but close enough to still smell the sickening fragrance of blood, close enough to expect a nighttime announcement, a wakeup call, maybe even a body discovery announcement. Hinata couldn’t get the melody out of his head, and he knew that everyone else on the island felt the same way. 

Hinata couldn’t look at video games the same way anymore. He had almost ripped apart one of their only board games, and he remembers locking himself up in a closet, frantic pounding against the doors with static in his ears that could only equate to his name. 

They were out of the simulation, yet the words Komaeda spoke to him still hung heavily on his heart. Even out of the simulation, Komaeda still showed him no mercy, no leeway nor a break for his hard work. (How pitiful it was, expecting he’d get a break had he given Komaeda all the love he couldn’t get and the love he wanted to give to Nanami.) 

No matter how much love and care he showed Komaeda, he’d still keep pushing away, pushing him away, and he’d always, always, end up breaking things in his room and end up with blood painted all over his face and hands. Hinata felt wrong wondering if this time Komaeda would die from his illness, blood loss, or poison. 

So, he adapted. He tried convincing himself, throwing himself at every opportunity he had to help everyone around, help Komaeda. Nevermind was worried about him, mostly inquiring that it took more than just one ruler to keep a country in line. (He saw a distant look in her eye, one that didn’t go unnoticed. He felt sick.) 

Nothing felt right anymore. His hair always felt too dark to be his, eyes too different, body not quite his nor not quite masculine enough like it was in the program. Nothing felt right, so he distracted himself from these feelings of soot on his body by adding more bleach to it. (Damn it all if he burned, for all he cared about was momentary relief until he all crashed and burned.) 

He was useful now, tinkering around with anything he could, learning how to code, learning that he could do anything and everything. It was exhilarating, knowing he was finally who he wanted to be. It was at the price of his own identity, at the price of his emotional stability, at the cost of never being entertained fully again, but he would take that bargain. He’d do anything and this was just a testament to that. 

He wanted words of praise to fill his ears like saccharine sweetness, wanted crowds to kneel before him and worship his very feet. He felt sick and woozy at the thought, felt clammy and wrong to visualize him being a God. It felt wrong because he didn’t deserve it, but he was so talented now, right? He could ask for anything and get it and he wanted it so bad. 

He remembers it happening before, having someone below his feet. He felt no happiness from it, just the underlying feelings of boredom. Kamukura wasn’t one to please himself, moreso wanting to please others, and being treated like a God was oh-so predictable. He remembers Enoshima’s ‘offerings’, remembers everything to a point that he wanted to claw out his own brain and scratch at it. He hated it, but Kamukura felt nothing of it. (He wanted to please her, no matter how undignified it was. He could never do something for himself, although he tried convincing himself of it.) 

He took time to console himself of these feelings, wash them away by scrubbing so hard on delicate skin with a much too rough soap. He washed and washed until his skin was red, until the sky bled through with colors of crimson and pink. He was wasting water, but he never felt so pleased. He felt clean, but he knew he’d repeat the process over again. 

He knew everything, at this point. He knew he’d run out of things to help with, run out of things he could be useful with. He knew that all machines broke down at some point. Knew that he needed to be repaired from help outside of its own capabilities. Until that point came, though, he’d do it himself. 

That greed to be useful soon developed into a fit of wanting control. He knew exactly what would play out if he played his cards right, and yet he wanted more. He was greedy, and he knew that, but Hinata didn’t care. He’d grasp at whatever he could, dig nails into his palms to get a good grip on it, and he’d squeeze. (He had soon come to learn that the thing he was squeezing was Komaeda’s throat at breakfast. Nidai and Owari had to pry him off with their combined efforts. Komaeda had to be taken to Tsumiki for a short duration due to how hard he was gripping his throat, and Hinata couldn’t look at his neck for days.)

He could always get control, but it would always slip away through his fingertips, like trying to grab fistfuls of water. It started with him always starting the meetings, with him controlling what came in from Naegi’s stocks and what went out to him talking to Future Foundation on behalf of everyone else. Soon enough, it still turned out unable to fill his cup of want. 

Hinata stopped eating. He controlled what he ate on a daily basis, and if he ate a bit too much of what he calculated, he’d throw it up. He felt sick and fragile, but he knew when he’d had too much. He’d know when he couldn’t take it anymore, and that was probably the reason why this all happened in the first place. (He remembers trying to control the level of respect everyone had for him, a bit of Kamukura flaring up in him as he tried to gain power and fear over everyone else, but as soon as he saw it in their eyes, he ran off again.)

Everyone was worried. He brushed it off, and he continued. He knew he shouldn’t do this, how he couldn’t. How no one could deal with something that Hinata was pulling off more than they had to. He had to be a leader, he thought, and Komaeda found it amusing, if it were for the interaction at the beach they had. He wanted to shove the otter pop down his throat and watch his face go blue. 

He remembers an impossibly cold or hot night at the island when he would end up pointing out everything Komaeda hated about himself. He remembers pointing out his illness, how he’d die, how he lost everything and soon he’d lose everyone here. He remembers Komaeda gripping at his thin arms so hard that Hinata feared that he’d break his bones. He remembers how scared Komaeda was of him then. His stomach lurches at the memory.   
Hinata leaned over the toilet bowl, cheek pressed against the cold material of the toilet seat, drool pooling in his mouth as he tried ignoring the foul stench from the toilet. He throws up more, cries harder, and passes out again. He ignored how wrong this felt. He ignored how there was a better alternative he could have chosen. 

However, when nothing felt right anymore, with his body that wasn’t quite his, the hair that wouldn’t ever be considered as his own, and the eye he desperately wanted to pluck out, Hinata entertains the idea that he can be wrong for once. 

He barely makes out the sound of the door opening, and he ignores the panicked wheeze that follows, and his eyes close.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading... whatever tf this is SKLFEIHOHRIOEWIFS PLS shawty i was in pain while writing this   
> vent fic? does debby ryan 
> 
> I'VE REACHED MAGNUM OPUS IM NOW PROJECTING ONTO KOMAEDA KAMUKURA AND HINATA DO NOT SPEAK TO ME I AM GOD GROVEL AT MY FEET 
> 
> but seriously im weak for comments and kudos please i procrastinated my entire essay for thsi LAFHIOEFJKLSDF THANK YOU FOR READING <3 MWAH KISSES REMEMBER TO TAKE CARE OF YOURSELEF AND TRY EAT SOMETHING TODAY PLEASE!!!!!! I LOVE YOU SM


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